Playing with the Dead
by Cadagan
Summary: People don't seem to like Necromancers. They'll learn. They'll all learn! A little short thing I wrote, with the idea of making some more, if people seem to enjoy it. Based heavily on D&D, though I reserve the right to take liberties. Also, please feel free to critique my writing. I currently spend my days writing books, learning, and I relish any and all feedback.


1

The cage rattled, and I shot awake. The snow had laid itself thinly on my thighs, my exposed fore-arms. It wasn't so bad.

I shook myself to wakefulness, inching my eyes open. The light was dim, but in a winter like this, that was normal. The other prisoners, wretches not much better looking than I, most even thinner, were huddled in the corner, away from me. They looked frightful, as if they'd expected me to be dead.

A few days ago, I'd have spoken to them, calmed their nerves at my strangeness, perhaps even started up a conversation. That day, however, was not a good day for me. I shrugged off the snow. My exposed upper body was almost pure white, my fingers and toes turning purple from the cold, the flesh beneath my wrist manacles strangely unbruised. I chuckle a little to myself, noting that my breath doesn't mist. No wonder they'd thought I'd died; I looked like death itself.

Sighing, I rested my feet against the other bench where none of the other wretches sat, too busy huddling each other. They hadn't yet told us where we were going. Hell, I didn't even know if I was a prisoner, a slave, or just on the way to the headsman. Graverobbing couldn't be so dire a crime, could it? Well, I'd decided a long time ago that, while I dismissed the laws of others, I wouldn't fight them outright. That would only give me a worse name, now wouldn't it?

"How much further, friend?" I called to the heavily furred man, huddled over the two horses it took to pull such a heavy load as this. Dirty, shoddy iron cages such as this might come cheap, but they did not come light.

The figure turned, frowning at me. I could only imagine how I looked. My once-neat pony tail framing my gaunt white face in dirt-blonde locks, perhaps a little stubble. It had only been a day since my arrest, but my line of work made people eager to be rid of me, unfortunately. "Day more," he said in a gravelly voice, apparently unperturbed by my appearance. He shifted around a little more to glance at the five other prisoners, wrapped up in a couple of blankets. "Stop yer snivellin'! Man's no more unnatural than half the stupid, crazy rubbish in the world!" With that, he turned back to his job, muttering, either to himself or the horses.

"I appreciate the thought," I told him eagerly. It was rare for my sort to get compliments as grand as that.

"Bugger off," the driver grumbled without turning back.

"Understood," I said without much spite. A positive outlook was important, I find, in dealing with people who don't like you. If you give them nothing to dislike but something they don't understand, they either bite on their ignorance, or give you a chance. The ignorant were easy to deal with. Or rather, they were simpler to deal with. Either you ignored them, or, in their need to be right, they forced you to deal with them. And then? You deal with them.

I fell into a half slumber, not paying much attention as the winter forest rolled on by. There was no traffic on this road, either way, save for us. Ahead and behind of the prison cart were a few horsemen, guards no doubt, and the owner out front. Straight backed, and wearing a cloak that probably cost more than an ordinary man earned in a year, it was hard not to dislike him. Not that I'd met him at all. I only remember being thrown into a cell after they'd discovered me standing over an empty grave, then being thrown into this other, smaller cage. It hadn't been an enjoyable experience, so far, and I was still waiting for some opportunity to come along so I could get out.

"Do you think I could get a blanket?" I asked the driver, looking enviously at the other prisoners. They each had a blanket each, surely that meant…

"Don't need it," the cart-driver grunted from the front, in a collection of syllables like a handful of jagged pebbles. "One of them wizards are ye? Or half-elf git?"

"Not particularly," I said, glad for the opportunity to speak. "Actually, I dabble in necromancy."

The old cart-driver didn't move, or respond in any particular way. Just looked forward, and stopped talking.

I sighed, sinking even deeper into the seat. It vexed me – vexes me still, in fact – the reaction ordinary folk had to working with the dead, or the undead. My master taught me of days when speaking with one's ancestors was a service as lusted after – and as often sought out – as a good doctor. Necromancers were mere spirit workers, a primitive version of what we are today, and so only worked with spirits. But then we got to working with the body, and those same people who thanked us with tear-filled eyes for a fond farewell with a dearly departed, quickly became unfriendly. At least, that was how my Master used to put it.

I inched open an eye, and saw exactly what I expected. The other prisoners were staring at me with twice as much fear, and an equal helping of hatred, as before. I gave them a placating smile, hoping this ride would be over quickly.

Near another hour passed by without much of interest happening, until the clatter of hooves on the hard earth began to clatter from behind. I sat up, grateful for something interesting to finally happen. Coming up from behind, on a rather absurd array of horses, was an equally absurd array of individuals, six in total.

At the front was a heavily armoured individual, each of the plates lines by a white fur, the helmet a strange shape, as if to accept horns. The man – or woman, it was hard to tell – faced forward the entire time. A rather ostentatious sword, and an accompanying shield were strapped to the poor steed's saddle, under which was tucked the tiefling's tail. Next came a ranger, a heavy-bearded man who looked grizzled as a bear. I followed his upwards gaze, and noted the falcon circling the cart. Then came a robed, silver-haired woman; a wizard or a sorcerer, my Master hadn't cared about ordinary spell-flinging sorts to care for the difference. She was perusing a book. Next came a dark-red haired half-orc. Where the tiefling's armor, at least, was humble but functional, this one's armor was worthy of a king, his Warhammer resting on his shoulder as if he meant to use it at any moment. That one gave me the dirtiest look I'd received in quite a while. And finally came a tiny gnome atop a needlessly large black and white roan. Surprisingly, her gaze passed over the lot of us without much emotion either way.

"Ho!" the tiefling - a woman - called. The cart owner held up a fist, and the horses all slowed to a stop. The warrior gestured to her companions to wait, then moved up to speak with the cloaked owner. As they conversed, the other travelers settled down to wait. The half-orc, a paladin, I supposed, directed his horse into an intimidating pass along the cage, giving each and everyone one of us that same snarl. Whether or not that was the poor man's natural face, I couldn't be sure. The ranger, the wizard and the druid all huddled together – the druid staying on her horse, probably for the sake of height – discussing something out of hearing range. They were eyeing the cage, and me especially.

"Hi there," I said, once the paladin came past once more, hoping to strike up a conversation. "Any news from the world?"

"Quiet, wretch," he said, spitting the words.

This time I didn't sigh. I'd been expecting that. "If you like."

Eventually the leader's conversing was done, and a coin purse was passed over. The owner raised his hand to one of the guards at the rear. "Open up!"

Grunting like only a disgruntled soldier in the cold can, the guard hopped off his horse, nearly slipping on the ice, and fumbled with numb hands to retrieve the keys in his cloak. As he squinted, trying to find the right one, the Tiefling, her helmet now held in the crook of her arm, the curling, deep red horns erupting from her icy-white hair, walked around the cage at a leisurely pace, fiery eyes glowing from beneath a heavy brow, perhaps the most demonic Tiefling I have ever seen. The doors swung open with ugly cries, and she stepped up to the entrance.

"I expect you're the necromancer," she said, pointing a finger at me. My eyebrows raised, I nodded. "Out," she said, with a wave of her hand. The owner came up alongside her, arms folded. Even standing tall as he was, he didn't reach the lower curve of her horns. "What did he have on him?"

"Urh," the man said, peering no-where in particular as I made my way, bent over, to the back of the cage. "This one had not so many belongings, and what he had is already sold."

"Yes, but what _did_ he have?" the tiefling asked, snarling with fanged teeth at the man. I reached the bottom step, and hooped down, lithe as ever; lithe as I'll ever be.

"Ah, let's see…" the man said, looking everywhere but at me, or the Tiefling. She and I met eyes, properly, for the first time. I smiled. She growled, quite literally. The owner – I never saw him again, but my memory of him is as a distinctly foolish noble man, clinging to his blood even as his money had left long ago – the owner finally stopped daydreaming and returned to the land of the living. "A robe, a diary, some rations, a dagger, oh… a few gold coins, a bedroll, a few cooking utensils. That's about it, really."

"Is that 'about it'?" the Tiefling asked, her forked tongue flicking over sharp teeth.

"I had a good two-hundred-and-fifty gold on me at the time," I said, giving the cart-owner a pitying look. I didn't blame him for bending the truth, but I wouldn't bend it with him, and this fine tiefling woman struck me as someone who despised dishonesty with a passion. "I also had a bottle of antique rum, though I don't imagine that factors in any."

"It does not." She gestured over the gnome, who sighed, and hopped off her horse. "Remove the manacle."

"Are you truly sure you wish to do that?" The owner asked, eyeing me. "He's… not… You don't _really_ want…"

"You have your money," the tiefling interrupted. "Do as you're told, so we can get on with our business, and you can be on with yours."

I nodded gratefully to her, brandishing my finest smile.

"Uh, alright," the owner said, giving me a very unkind look. "Do it." The guard stepped forward again, the same grumbling escaping his near-toothless mouth, and undid my manacles as quick as he could manage, his fingers shivering from the cold. As soon as they fell, the man stepped back, and away from me, as if he expected me to steal his soul, right there and then.

"Off with you," the tiefling said, glaring directly at me with her red, glowing eyes. I kept up my amiable exterior, though I will admit that this half-demon's looks were starting to intimidate me, if only slightly.

The owner looked between us, as if he didn't quite understand what to do. Eventually his guard kicked his shin, having been hopping from one leg to the other. The tiefling's glare kept me firmly in place as the they locked up the cage once more, and the prison cage, five poor souls within, rattled away towards I knew not where.

When they'd disappeared behind a hill, I turned back to my new companions. The half-orc was still atop his horse, looking down his enormous nose at me. The druid stood next to the tiefling, looking up at me quite strangely, as if unsure what to make of me, while the others mounted their horses.

"You said the grave was already open when you arrived," the tiefling said.

"Back in Riadin? Yes, it was. Why do you ask?"

"Why were you there?"

"I passed by as the grave was being filled," I said truthfully. "Only one man was there, but I sensed two souls. I decided to investigate it at night. That's when I was caught."

The tiefling's intense glare faltered, as she looked at her companions. The paladin's self-righteous glare never faltered, but the little druid glanced downwards, and the ranger and the wizard mimicked it. They all looked tired, and haunted. "That was our friend's grave," their leader said. "And she was killed by a spirit."

"How sad," I said. I had thought I sounded honest, but for some reason the woman took it poorly, and broke my nose.

"Be quiet, filth," she said as I straightened. I ran my fingers along the length of it, feeling the luke-warm blood trickling down, the piece her gauntleted hand had broken. "You'll speak only when you are spoken to." I nodded, and squeezed until my nose popped back into place. The cold only deadened some of the pain, and I doubled over for a minute, to catch my breath. Being part undead had some benefits, but lacking pain was not one of them.

I had heard her, of course, but I was always an optimist, and tried to continue the conversation as if she hadn't just assaulted me. "And I expect you'll want my help slaying it?"

"No," she said. Her fanged teeth had finally fallen behind her red lips. It seemed breaking my nose had satisfied her, for a moment, and I knew I'd stumbled upon a strangely likeable individual. "I think you enslaved it, and I want you to get rid of it."

I frowned, utterly baffled. I knew the average person did not know much about Necromantic working, but an assertion like that was something almost beyond responding to. "You think…" I paused, smiling humbly at the people around me. "You think I, a man in my twenties, am powerful enough to create a spirit, which in turn is powerful enough to kill someone, who I assume is an adventurer of some sort like yourself, but not _only_ kill them, but also leave within their corpse a specific sort of spell that revived them as undead days later?" I looked up to the half-orc, who really did seem intent on keeping his face that way. "I don't mean to be rude, but surely you know how absurd that is?"

Snorting out air like a bull, the paladin hefted his hammer. "Let me end it," he said, flashing blood-shot eyes.

"You will talk to me," the tiefling said, gripping my wrist in a painful twist. "And only me," she continued, with a meaningful glance at her armored companion. "If you didn't create this thing, then what did? What is it? How do we kill it?"

"Some sort of lich, projecting it's essence, would be my guess," I said, bent over, trying to reduce the pain from her grasp. Trying to sound pleasant while in pain is always difficult, especially when people took even your best attempts as some sick mockery. "Though perhaps you ought to tell me more about it?"

Still holding my wrist, she gave me another one of her intimidating, considering stares. She released, and I fell back into the dirt, grasping my pained hand. It was already swollen and aching from the manacles, and now it was possibly broken. "Fe-" The tiefling cut off, thinking. "My Druid friend, here, saw more than the rest of us."

The gnome nodded, her oddly disproportional face an oddity to me. At the time, I had only dealt with humans, dwarves and elves, with a spattering of half-orcs between. Having both a tiefling and a gnome before me in a single day was… exhilarating, despite everything else. Grasping her hands before her – not nervously, but merely out of habit, it seemed – she directly at me without spite or fear.

"It was a spirit, I believe, though I saw not that much," she said in a pleasing voice that occasionally creaked into the annoyingly high. "We were in a cavern beneath a crypt, more than a mile down, I'd guess, and it was just me and… our friend." That last was said with a glance to the tiefling, who nodded appreciatively. "She and I followed the cavern until we reached a crypt, carved into the rock itself. It was… piled with more bones than I've ever seen in my lifetime. Hundreds and hundreds of them, scattered everywhere. The central sarcophagus opened, and a misty-blue figure floated up. It greeted us as if we were its friends, but when it touched… our friend… she died." Her voice was strong, but her eyes began to water. "Just like that. With a single touch."

Using my single whole arm, I lifted myself up from the snow. "I'm sorry to hear that. May I ask, what made you seek out this being?"

"This was in our friend's home," the tiefling spoke up before the gnome could. "Her ancestral home, which had been abandoned since the earth had been salted by some evil. We sought to rid the land of the taint."

"And then it took her life, as well," I spoke, understanding now the horror, the irony of their pain. For the evil to take the very one who wished the thing gone, for them to lose their friend in such away… it would have been a horrific wound to any. "These bones… did any of them glow?" I asked the gnome. "Or, perhaps, did you see any gems imbedded within them?"

"I did not, but that means little," she said. The ranger and the wizard started moving towards us, their need to know overcoming their fear of me. "There were _many_ bones."

"Why do you ask that?" the tiefling said.

"Let me help you."

Another gauntleted hand slapped the back of my head – or rather, struck it like a brick. Rubbing it, and feeling fairly unhappy with the state of things, I looked up to the half-orc. "Answer the question."

"For your own benefit, I will not. Until you accept my help."

"You are free," the tiefling said, her teeth showing once more. "And clearly the cold means nothing to you. That is enough. We do not need your help, now _answer the question!_ "

"Once more, I mean no offense, but if you had twice your number, this would still be above your pay grade," I said, knowing that they would take offense anyway. It mattered not; the words needed to be said. "Things of this sort are centuries, perhaps millennia old, and as such cannot be defined in a brief conversation on a freezing roadside." I looked at each of them, even the ranger and magic user – though they had said the least, they seemed the most affected – with imploring eyes. "If this is what I believe it to be, you have no chance. Even with me, there would be small chance of success, but I would not feel right sending so many to a foolish death. Take me with you, and I will help as much as I can, and ensure your friend receives her due rest."

I realized I'd left my face become sullen, and serious, and so I replaced the smile, showing it around. They were all thoughtful – the gnome, especially, looking at me with those passive eyes of hers – and quiet as the grave. The wind blew, and the snow redoubled its efforts. A blizzard was coming.

The tiefling looked up to the paladin. The half-orc grimaced, but nodded. She extracted the same from the rest of her group.

"Fine," she said. She retrieved a bundle from her saddlebags, and tossed it to me. "Get dressed, necromancer. You ride with me. And you _will_ be quiet until we reach more hospitable air."

I smiled, and began to dress, feeling like things might be looking up.


End file.
